Page 42 of Keeping a Warrior

“Anytime.”

They both tilted their heads back and stared up at the sky, until at last Rhys suggested they go back inside to find the guys.

At this hour, the bar was packed, the dance floor crowded. Most of the SEALs were gathered around the pool table, money stacked up on the edge as they made their bets.

Devon watched the rowdy shoot-out for a few minutes, then excused herself to use the bathroom. When she emerged, there was a small group of civilian men crammed in the hallway right outside, talking loudly, their lower lips stuffed with dip. When she politely murmured, “Excuse me,” none of them moved, just turned their heads to stare her up and down.

Swallowing hard, Devon repeated herself, a little louder this time. Her heart was tripping a mile a minute, her face growing hot. “I said, excuse me,” she said for the third time. “Please move.”

Finally one guy angled to the side just the slightest bit, smirking. He waved his hand toward the narrow path between the bodies. “Be my guest, sweetheart.”

Gritting her teeth, Devon tried to edge through, and as she did, the man closed the gap, trapping her between himself and the man behind her. “Whoops,” he cackled. “Not quite enough room.”

Devon was done with politeness. “Get off me,” she snarled. “Now.”

All the guy did was laugh. “Nah, we kinda like this sandwich.” He pushed his hips against her, his boozy breath wafting in her face. “Be nice to us, honey. C’mon.”

Devon slammed her fist right into his gut.

He stumbled back, bent double and wheezing, eyes wide with shock. The guy behind her made a choked exclamation and raised his hands defensively when she whirled on him.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he declared. It was a lie; Devon had felt his hand on her ass. She jabbed a finger in his face, vicious satisfaction going through her when he flinched.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The first man straightened, one arm wrapped around his middle. “Slut,” he spat. “You’re nothin’ but a—”

Without missing a beat, Devon grabbed twin handfuls of his shirt, planted her feet and slung him headfirst out of the hallway and into the bar. He went sprawling on his stomach right at the feet of the SEALs, who’d abandoned their pool game and were watching silently, arms crossed over their chests.

The other guy who’d groped her melted away in the opposite direction.

Smudge stomped his boot on the back of the fallen man’s neck when he tried to rise. “You okay, Ms. Lowe?” he rumbled. “This dude bothering you?”

“Not anymore.” Devon wiped her hands on her pants, stepped over the man and walked toward the entrance to the bar, her head held high. Inside she was shaking, old memories of helplessness, of confusion, of fear, welling up to burn their way from her chest into her throat.

“Did you say no? Did you tell them to stop? Why not, Ms. Lowe?”

As she pushed through the door, she realized all the guys were right on her heels.

Nobody spoke while she gathered herself together, and finally, with a chorus of quiet “Hooyahs” they left the bar behind.

Back in her room, Devon leaned against the door and let the hot tears come. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her. She pulled it out with trembling fingers. It was Rhys.

You okay?

Yeah. At least, I will be.

You’re strong as fuck, Devon. Don’t ever forget that.

Devon rolled her eyes.

Convoy driver, slayer of douchebags. Yep, that’s me.

This princess can definitely save herself. But we’re here if you need us. Night.

A jolt of realization straightened Devon’s spine, along with a welcome surge of satisfaction. She had saved herself, hadn’t she? The SEALs, and Rhys, had been right there, but they hadn’t interfered. They must have recognized—one warrior to another—that this was her fight and hers alone.

But they’d still had her back.